


Before and After

by unknowableroom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-24
Updated: 2007-06-24
Packaged: 2019-01-19 11:53:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12409827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unknowableroom_archivist/pseuds/unknowableroom_archivist
Summary: He will be a fallen hero, and she will be his muse.





	Before and After

**Author's Note:**

> Note from ChristyCorr, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Unknowable Room](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Unknowable_Room), a Harry Potter archive active from 2005-2016. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Unknowable Room collection profile](http://www.archiveofourown.org/collections/unknowableroom).

_Disclaimer: It’s all JK Rowling’s. I’m not sure if this is good or not, but try it out and tell me if you like it. I’ve been a horrible writer as of late. Thank you_ _J_

__

 

__

**_Before and After_ **

__

****

This story, like so many stories begins with a moment. It seems petty and rash and fleeting. You won’t even think of it for years until you are old and your hair is graying and you think, _I remember her that day, thirty years ago with her red hair trapped in the wind. She was smiling, like only an eleven year old can do. I remember_ , and your mind soars, your eyes tear, and it’s a mystery to you why that moment, of all moments in your life, comes back to you. But it does.  


She had sat down next to him at the lake looking at him with a hint of adulation. Her hands fidgeted with her robes, her lips quivered, but she smiled and giggled and asked him if he liked chocolate frogs.

He looked at her, the hint of a smile on his face ready to indulge his best friend’s little sister, and said yes, yes he does. Very much so.

And she whispered that so does she.

The sun set, the dinner bell rang, and the image of her brown eyes staring into his own was lost, very quickly, into the abyss of his life.

His life was filled with broken memories and a mysterious past and he found the present to be much more pleasing then all of that. He had the power to change the present, and live in the present, and the past was better left forgotten anyhow.

Only he risked forgetting her.

When she was a third year, their small talks had become something of a tradition. He came to the lake to think, to forget, and in some way because he like the way her face turned red when she laughed and loved the small noise she made when she sucked on a sugar quill.

He liked the way she listened to him. Her eyes were stern, her mouth in a pout, and she waited until his explanation was over to flick her hand and say, _well, it’s not so important anyway._ And he knew that it wasn’t.

  
That year, he was having problems living with her brother.  


“He’s my best friend, Gin, your brother, but sometimes don’t you want to just ring his neck?”

He looked at her afraid of insulting her, but she giggled and flicked her hand in the air as if that wiped all his problems away.

“It’s hard not to feel that way when Ron is concerned.”  
 

He looked at her, the right side of his face down against his knees and told her he’s happy she’s here.

“I really need a friend right now,” he said while looking into her eyes. She smiled trying not to think of that bushy haired girl waiting for him back at the castle who would have the answers to Harry’s pains and Ron’s delusions. That girl would have done more than waving her hand in the air. That girl would have known exactly what to say.

She couldn’t help but whisper the name, “Hermione.”

He looked passed her, his head rising from his knees, and his smile disappeared as he focused on the lake. “Hermione’s great,” he said after a bit, “but sometimes the lake is better.”

And she whispered that she thought so too.

The sun slowly went down and Hogwarts became surrounded by darkness. The type of darkness you cannot ever escape from, _not really._ It lingers and kills and sometimes you want to scream at the world for its sadness. You want to kick and yell and say a particularly disastrous spell because you miss life before. Before life consisted of before and after.

Before Cedric died. After he had risen again. Before he loved her.

But you don’t kick and you don’t scream because somewhere inside of you you realize that acting like that just seems juvenile. So, you go on, go to school, and know that somewhere on the Hogwarts’ grounds and through the darkness they’re at the lake, very much like before.

Only it will never be before again. 

The sun will rise east, it will set in the west, and much like before you will crave the sweetness of pumpkin juice and wander into the forbidden forest and dream about life after Hogwarts. You will sit in your common room and stare over the rolling hills and tall trees to the lake. And in the middle of the storm you see them sitting, her head on his shoulder, his hand grasping hers, and you see that it is different from before.

He has endured the death of loved ones and survived maniacs wands and even strived to live through the small heartbreak that she herself inflicted. But, the storm moves closer and soon the day will come when he can no longer ignore its thunder. Lightening will strike and tears will fall from the sky and he will stand in the middle of it all, unable to fight, unable to run away.

He will be a fallen hero, and she will be his muse.

At the lake, their hands will be intertwined, their eyes focused on the giant squid playing before them. They will think about the Headmaster’s funeral taking place the following day and remember a great, long beard and a happy chuckle that sometimes reminded him of Santa Clause. They will wonder what now he will have to go out and do and if this will truly be the end. In her mind she’ll wonder, “ _the end of what”_ and aloud he’ll ask _“what will become of us,”_ but neither will have any answers. The wind will howl, his hair becoming more chaotic as the wind fingers his hair, and she will close her eyes and try and flick her hand.

_It doesn’t matter_ , she will want to say. _Not at all. Not really._ But the thing is, this time it _does_ matter. It matters a lot. She cannot wave her hand to make his pain disappear. She cannot pretend that there isn’t a war.

“The war will be fought,” she will say instead. “Some will suffer, others will die, but you will come back to us, our savior, our Boy Who Lived.”

He will look at her, the green in his eyes dark with fear realized, and he will swallow his pride and tell her he wishes to run away. Running away seems so much safer than turning around and facing destiny.

“Sometimes, I feel as if this is a joke. And one day I’m just going to wake up and realize it’s someone else’s battle to fight.” He’ll pause and swallow a lump in his throat, “Sometimes, I wonder if this is not all a big mistake.”

The wind stops howling, the air lies still and she looks at him with all the determination and love she could muster.

“This is what you were born for,” she’ll say even if it means sending her boy out to war. Even if it means she may never see him again.

The world is a big place, you know. Even if you are such a small part of it.

His eyes will be empty, but somewhere beneath the layers of green and yellow will be a light, a small, delicate light burning just for her.

“I have always loved you,” he’ll say and her eyes will close as a single tear escapes through her eyelashes. Your heart will pound as you watch her hand touch his face. Her lips will part, but he will shake his head and tell her to be quiet.

Before she never would have listened.

He walks away, she sits still, and you realize, as you watch his silhouette walking towards the doors, that the world will never be the same. Not like before, but maybe, maybe, that boy who cannot even fathom his own abilities can give you, all of you, a better after.

And you realize that hope doesn’t die, not really.

 

End  


 


End file.
